Juniper
by jojofet
Summary: Dunmer OC. Dark Brotherhood Questline. A fugitive with nothing left to her name flees Cyrodiil to war-torn Skyrim. In seeking to still do good outside the bounds of the law, she must discover if the ends always justify the means.
1. Chapter 1

13th of Last Seed, 4E 201

 _She is utterly aqueous. She floats from one dream to the next to the next. Daymares and wish fulfillments galore! There's the one where everything she touches melts, and she is eventually rolling about in the sticky sweet of many a strangers' corpses, laughing hysterically at the horror of it all. There's the memory where she wades into the creek, something alien pooling in her insides, at which point her mind replaces the bloody mess that followed with something more amusing- two sweet rolls and a honeybee, perhaps. There is the fantasy where she wraps herself tightly around- who? A man? A woman? That depends on what minute she is in. Their skin keeps shifting its color and texture, yet remains a welcome mess of extremities. Slugs in the brains of the masquerade ball goers, but only she can see them. She is a dandelion seed, floating above the sea, the world, the stream of time. Her daughters call her name and, with a brilliant grin and tears in her eyes, she joins them in the sun._

The jostling of the cart ripped the dark elf from her reverie. The sting of cold air was what hit her nose first, then the complex combination of spices, metal, and old cheese shortly thereafter. Groaning, she tried to stretch, but was quickly reminded of the goods crammed in alongside her. The way her head had hung as she slept had left a crook in her neck. Her eyelids feeling leaden, she had to practically force herself to open her eyes, but after blinking a few times, her immediate surroundings came into focus.

A brittle autumn light filtered through the thick spires of pine trees, illuminating the rickety procession of carriages, each of which carried a load of tired-eyed caravaneers. The way the cart rumbled and shifted along the rough stone road made her nauseous. In an attempt to both steady her stomach and ward off the early morning chill, she wrapped thin, taut arms around herself.

The thin, sheepskin divider at the front of the coach opened up to reveal the worn but smiling face of a red-furred khajiit.

"Ah, good morning, weary traveler," he cried joyously.

Juniper managed a small laugh that was more of a wince. "Key word being weary," she yawned. "Did you get any sleep at all, Niraji? How are you so goddamn chipper?"

The man chuckled in response. "Well, it is always exciting for Khajiit to come across a land he has not stepped foot in before. How could I sleep? The sky is so… big here, is it not?" He beckoned her to come up front. "Come, come and see!"

She was able to smile genuinely this time at the cat's wanderlust. Despite how little money she was able to make off with, she decided that she'd give him a little extra for the trouble of transporting her out of Cyrodiil.

Sticking her head out into the open and craning her neck, she wasn't expecting anything spectacular. Yet, she couldn't hold back a short, sharp inhale. Beyond the browning leaves and the distant peaks, the maw of the chilling sky seemed to open up to her.

"It really is beautiful," she whispered. After a moment, she sighed. "Maybe life here won't be too bad, huh? At least the scenery is nice."

"We have all had to run from our mistakes, yes? I would not worry if I were you. Any place can be a good home."

She cocked an eyebrow, turning to the old cat.

"Well that's rather presumptuous of you, sir," she remarked jokingly, trying to deflect the comment, "what makes you think I'm running from something?"

"Oh, I seem to recall something like, "Please let me accompany you, and don't ask any questions."

"Yes, that was the deal," she huffed, "I thought discretion was key to this budding friendship of ours."

"Yes, yes, my apologies, my lady. Niraji will make no more assumptions about your legal or not-so-legal activities."

"Cheeky bastard. So, when are we stopping next? I haven't peed since we left."

"Very soon. We are past Riften now, there is a small mining town where can stop for the day before descending into Eastmarch."

"Lovely. Thank you again."

"You are most welcome."

She settled back into her spot between a pile of furs and a sack of potatoes. Before she knew it, she had lapsed back into sleep.

When Juniper woke, a cacophony of screams and clashing metal came first. Then came the heat.

There were flames creeping in from all sides, and she didn't even get a chance to catch a breath before the smoke started choking her. Thankfully, her eyes were quick, and her hands quicker. She pawed for whatever of her essentials she could find- a dagger, a coin purse, a knapsack- and was able to scramble out of the cart before the roof caved in. Eyes watering, half-blinded, she kept low to the ground and tried to orient herself. Try as she may, however, the sound of battle was coming from all sides. She tripped over something, and she landed flat on the ground. Looking back she realized, to her horror, it was the body of one of the caravaneers, an arrow buried in her left eye. She hoped that Niraji was at least able to get out safe, but somehow she doubted it.

Her senses clearing, she practically dived into the cover of a nearby bush, and prayed to any entity that would listen that her knack of blending into her surroundings would not fail her now.

Silently observing the massacre, she saw a pitiful few blue-cloaked men swinging wildly against a wave of Imperial soldiers. Stormcloaks, in the flesh, she thought.

Suddenly, from her right side, a stocky red-haired woman sprinted out of the underbrush with a war cry and swung the legs out from under a line of Imperials with her axe. She wasn't dressed like the other rebels, but she sure fought like one. However, she was quickly overpowered, although it took five men to wrestle her to the ground, and even then she thrashed and wailed like a sabrecat.

Just as an Imperial boot pressed itself onto the redhead's face, she and the elf made eye contact. It was then that the fear in the woman's eyes made itself known to Juniper, and she felt as though she were frozen in place.

"Stop! Stop this madness!" Boomed a commanding Nordic voice. "There is no glory to be had by any more blood here. Take me to be mocked in front of your leader. Just know this fight will not end by killing me."

In a matter of moments, the red-haired woman and the Stormcloak soldiers were hauled away and the clearing became quiet, save for the distant yells and sounds of horse hooves. Juniper stood up shakily, wondering how her luck had gone so bad, so fast. Still, she thought, she had survived. These poor Khajiit got caught in the crossfire of a battle in which neither side cared much for collateral damage. Since there wasn't much to salvage from the caravans, she sifted through the pockets of their former hosts, feeling dirty doing so.


	2. Chapter 2

15th of Last Seed, 4E 201

As Juniper came closer and closer to Windhelm, the best word she could think of to describe the weather was obnoxious. Sure, Cyrodiil had winter. But the winds here blatantly ignored any number of layers one could wear, chilling her to the bone. Looking at her hands made her laugh a bit despite herself- she was even more blue than usual.

Still, silver linings. Whenever, she had lent a thought to Skyrim in the past, she assumed it was all snow all the time, but that wasn't the case. Eastmarch was almost as strange as anything one would expect to come across in Morrowind. The land itself hissed and roiled with hydrothermal activity and had creeper roots and dragon tongue emerging from every crack. She tried her best to commit every detail to memory between close calls with wolves, bandits, and even a herd of mammoths.

The sun was beginning to set by the time she reached the city stables. She couldn't imagine that this stone behemoth of a city was ever particularly inviting, even by the light of day. Just walking into the city itself was an ordeal. The stone ground was slick with ice and packed snow, and she had to catch herself several times before she reached the front gate. One of the guards posted out front held out a hand, grasping his weapon with the other.

"You another refugee?" The guard, by the sound of it, couldn't have been older than eighteen.

"Yeah, you could say that," Juniper sighed, teeth chattering. "Just looking for a place to stay for a few days."

"Is that so?" The other guard spoke up then, and was clearly the more experienced of the pair. "Why the boots?"

"Excuse me?"

"Those are Imperial-made boots, stranger. No real tread on 'em. Ain't very good for walking on ice, huh?"

It took a moment for her to understand his meaning. Once she did, she chuckled nervously and looked down at her feet.

"Oh, these old things? Yeah, makes sense that they'd be Imperial boots. I had to kill an Imperial to get them, after all." She rounded off her words with a casual smile of camaraderie. It felt refreshing to not need a lie to get herself out of trouble.

"That's… impressive," admitted the younger guard, who even at his age stood a good head and shoulders taller than her.

"Hmph," the older guard snorted. "Walk carefully in our city, gray-skin. Getting some proper boots'll be a good start."

Juniper gave a nod to the pair as she passed, the name leaving a sour taste in her mouth. Still, she tried to brush it off.

Unfortunately, her surroundings went from micro-aggression to full-on aggression real quick. Upon entry, she saw a Dunmer woman, slender and moderately well-dressed, being menaced by two Nords who each had a bottle in hand.

"You come here where you're not wanted, you eat our food, you pollute the city with your stink, and you refuse to help the Stormcloaks!"

The wildly gesticulating man was red in the face, partially from the yelling and partially from the multitude of gin blossoms peppering his complexion.

"We haven't picked a side because it's not our fight!" The woman insisted, managing to hold her ground. Juniper had to admire her poise in this situation. However, she had a sneaking suspicion that this was hardly an isolated incident as they continued to volley accusations.

"Hey," slurred his friend, "maybe the reason these gray-skins don't help in the war is because they're Imperial spies!"

The woman's eyes went wide.

"Imperial spies? You can't be serious!"

The first man shuffled even closer, eyes glazed over and hungry. She could tell he was the leader, the other man simply his toady. The whole sight boiled her blood but froze her body in place.

"Maybe we'll pay you a visit tonight, little spy... we got ways of finding out who you really are."

As the pair walked away, Juniper stepped out of the shadows and laid a hand on the woman's shoulder, making her jump in the process.

"Looked like those Nords we're giving you trouble," she remarked apologetically.

The woman gave a tremendous sigh, her shoulders sagging ever so slightly.

"Nothing new there. Most of the Nords living in Windhelm don't care much for us, but Rolff is the worst by far. He likes to get drunk and walk around the Gray Quarter yelling insults at us in the small hours of the morning." Her expression hardened as she seemed to suddenly notice her own vulnerability. "A real charmer, that one."

"Why would anyone think you're a spy?"

As soon as she asked, she could tell she had immediately outed herself as a foreigner.

"Some of these Nords will come up with any excuse to despise us," the woman complained through gritted teeth. "And it isn't just the dark elves they hate - they make a target of the Argonians as well. In fact, just about anyone who isn't a Nord is fair game for their bullying."

Shaking her head, Juniper had to do her best to make light of things instead of allowing regret to set in.

"First the guards at the gate, then those guys... is immigrant hatred a buddy system here?"

The woman's laughter was a surprise, especially to herself by the looks of it. While still not considerably old for a Dunmer, life in Windhelm had clearly weathered her. After a moment, she snapped back into her usual resigned demeanor.

"Strength in numbers, I suppose... probably best you don't stay here very long. Slums have a way of keeping you stuck."

"Well… I was hoping to find work, odd jobs at the very least. And back where I'm from, there aren't too many of, you know, us."

"You know, you might be just the person I'm looking for then!" The woman dared to light up again. "I run things down at the docks, and I need someone to make smaller deliveries to homes and such in the city. Tell me, are you quick on your feet?"

Juniper grinned. "The quickest."

"Well then… I don't normally go out on a limb like this, but consider yourself hired- um-oh," she apologized, "I didn't even ask you your name, did I?"

"Oh, I uh-" Juniper stammered, trying to choose her words carefully, "most people just call me J. And you are...?"

"Suvaris. A pleasure to meet you, Jay. For what it's worth, welcome to Windhelm." She clapped Juniper on the back with surprising strength. "Why don't you come down to the New Gnisis Cornerclub with me? I can introduce to some of the other folks in the Gray Quarter, grab you a drink."

"As long as this cornerclub of yours has an empty bed, I'm game," Juniper responded with a beleaguered sigh.

"Ah. It's not an inn, unfortunately. You'll have to try Candlehearth Hall right up ahead. As long as you've got the coin, they supposedly don't pay us much mind."

"Good to know. I'll probably be in town a few days, so how about a rain check on that drink?"

"Sounds like a deal. See you around, Jay."

As Suvaris turned the corner towards what was assumedly the Gray Quarter, Juniper rushed towards the warmth of the inn. One brief, cold reception with the innkeeper later, she was curled up in a chair by the hearth, gratefully scarfing down some grilled leeks and rabbit meat. Not one to give up old habit though, she still cased out everyone in the room. Thankfully, most just seemed like old barflies having a drink after a long day.

One rugged man sitting in the corner, however, did catch her eye. He was alone, heavily armored, and seemed as keenly aware of his surroundings as she was, though his energy wasn't aggressive or twitchy by any means. An unexpectedly warm smile spread across his face as his twinkling blue eyes set upon her, which she couldn't help but return before resuming her dinner. An intriguing character, for sure. Satisfied that no one in the tavern posed a threat to her, she decided to take a stab at wooing the barmaid before bed.

"Mind you don't play fresh with Susanna," chided the innkeeper when Juniper headed past the bar towards her room, "she plays the flirt, but it's just to get good tips."

"Oh I know that, don't you worry," Juniper laughed good-naturedly over her shoulder before shutting her door.

She was immensely grateful for the opportunity to bathe for the first time in the better part of a week. The beads of cool water made her shiver when they rolled down to her lower back. Once her body seemed properly clean, she leaned over the basin to splash water on her face and noticed her dim reflection.

Elves were well known for their sharp, protruding chins and brow bones. Yet many aspects of her face were unusually small and rounded, from the heart shape of her jaw to the concave slope of her nose. She had always suspected there was some other heritage mixed in with her elven blood. There was no way of knowing for sure though.

If nothing else, the deep blue-gray of her skin was quintessentially Dunmer, not to mention the high cheekbones and completely black eyes. But what her fingers were drawn to, as they had been many times before, was the strange symbol left in scar tissue on her right cheek. She tried in vain to glean any memory from it besides white hot pain. This habitual defeat frustrated her.

She finished washing her face and flopped down on the bed, a heady exhale escaping her lips. Tomorrow, she would find a way to eke out a new life in this cold land.


End file.
